


clair de lune

by soulofme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, some angst because i don't know how to write anything else lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: “I got my mark today, Keith.”“That’s great,” he mutters, wishing he could force himself to sound like he means it.And then, without any warning, Shiro says:“It’s you.”





	clair de lune

Shiro shows up to his apartment on a rainy August night, when the air is still humid, summer clinging desperately on even as fall looms over the world. Keith tries not to act surprised, especially not when Shiro fixes him with a lost look that looks incredibly off on his face.

“Hey, Shiro,” he drawls, leaning against the doorframe and watching the way water drips down Shiro’s face in rivulets.

Shiro’s eyes meet his briefly before flickering off behind him. Keith’s got some random documentary on in the background, just so that he wasn’t sitting in complete, miserable silence as he finally got around to drinking the beer he’d stocked his fridge with earlier in the week.

“Is this a bad time?” Shiro asks, his voice a low murmur that Keith has to strain to hear.

“No,” he says, stepping back a bit. Shiro shuffles forward just so. “I just—it’s kinda late, isn’t it?”

Shiro freezes.

“This was a bad idea,” he says, mostly to himself, and begins to turn. Keith catches him around the wrist before he can get very far.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to say, releasing Shiro once he’s sure he’s not going to run off. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Shiro says, shortly. He shakes his head, avoiding Keith’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Forget it. Sorry, Keith.”

“Stop that,” Keith says instantly. He forces the frown on his face away when Shiro’s eyes dart towards him, wide and unsure. “Just. Come in, you idiot.”

He thinks he sees the ghost of a smile on Shiro’s face, but he ignores it in favor of shutting the door. He heads towards the kitchen, grabbing another can of beer for himself and one for Shiro.

Shiro barely catches the can when Keith chucks it towards him, and the laugh they both let out sounds almost too loud in Keith’s apartment. He flicks the television off and settles back in his seat while Shiro hovers in the doorway, finger tapping on the top of his can.

“You want a towel?” Keith asks, jerking his chin towards Shiro’s damp hair.

Shiro shakes his head again.

“It’s fine,” he says, flashing a weak grin. He sits on the armchair across from Keith, looking stiff as a board. Keith takes a slow sip of his beer, arching a brow as he does.

“What’s up?”

Shiro is quiet for a few achingly long moments. He pops the tab of his beer but doesn’t take a drink, just stares at the can before he clears his throat and lifts his head.

“How’d you know?” he asks.

Keith’s eyebrows furrow. “How’d I know about what?”

“About—this,” Shiro says, stammering over his words. He gestures vaguely at his collarbone, and it’s only then that Keith gets it.

“Oh,” he says, flatly, and fights the urge to press his fingers against the mark etched into his skin. “I didn’t, really. It just showed up one day. Like everyone's does.”

Shiro sinks back against his seat, foot tapping anxiously on the ground. Keith leans forward to set his can on the table, folding his hands in his lap and waiting for Shiro to say something else.

They don’t talk about Keith’s mark. Not a lot, anyway. He was seventeen, on the edge of eighteen when it showed up. He wasn’t happy when he saw it, and he didn’t cry like his father said he had when he saw his after years of waiting. The first time Keith touched it, he felt like his fingertips were going to burn off.

Shiro’s the only person who knows about it. It makes sense, considering how it’s _his_ name branded beneath Keith’s collarbone for the rest of his life. Shiro didn’t have a mark, not even Adam’s name, and Keith had told him right then and there that he didn’t want anything.

Cue many long years in space together, as if the universe wanted to torture Keith as much as physically possible. In-between fighting for their lives and ensuring that others wouldn’t crumble beneath the Galra, Keith often found himself wondering if Shiro had ever gotten a mark. He didn’t dare ask, though, because that was a certain kind of pain he wasn’t brave enough to face.

“Did you ever think it was going to be me?”

Keith starts, Shiro’s question catching him off guard. He clears his throat and manages a tiny shrug.

“Not really,” he says, staring down at his bare feet. He wiggles his toes against the threadbare carpet. “You were kinda dangerous territory for me.”

“Me?” Shiro sounds genuinely surprised as he points to himself. “Are you serious?”

“You had Adam,” Keith reminds him gently. “I wasn’t gonna fuck that up.”

“We were doomed from the start,” Shiro mutters.

Keith swallows hard, pushing himself to continue.

“I didn’t think it was going to be you,” he clarifies, the urge to clam up and stop talking about this becoming nearly overwhelming. “But it made sense to me. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“How so?” Shiro asks curiously.

“You were the first person I trusted in a long time,” Keith says, and the honesty of it all nearly _hurts_. “Guess the universe assumed that meant I would trust you with myself.”

The breath Shiro releases is heavy. The sound lingers in the air between them, nearly deafening, and Keith finds himself chewing at the inside of his cheek.

“I never thought it was fair to you,” Shiro says, an unreadable expression on his face. “I kept thinking to myself that you deserved better. Someone who could take care of you.”

“I don’t need someone to take care of me,” Keith says with a snort.

Something in Shiro’s eyes softens.

“Maybe not,” he agrees. He gestures to the apartment with one hand. “But it would be nice now, wouldn't it?”

Keith grits his teeth.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“I know, Keith,” Shiro says, reaching for his drink. Keith stares at the ring of condensation the can leaves behind on the table. “You’ve always been like that, you know. Receptive to change.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Keith says, following Shiro’s lead and taking a languid sip of his beer. It’s lukewarm, but he likes the way it burns down his throat, the bitter taste it leaves behind on his tongue. “I wouldn’t have survived otherwise.”

Shiro leans his cheek on his hand, watching Keith with a kind of sharp interest that makes him feel hypersensitive of every movement he makes, every breath he takes in.

“Do you still miss him?” Shiro asks. “Your dad, I mean.”

Keith swallows hard.

“I think I always will,” he manages to get out. “What about your family?”

Shiro stiffens at that. Keith instantly wants to take the words back, figuring he’s struck a nerve. Shiro never talked about his family. Not back in the Garrison, or in space, or hell, after the war.

“My parents died when I was a cadet. Car accident,” Shiro says. “We were close. I blocked it out, though. Figured if I ignored it, it would hurt less.”

“Did it work out that way?”

“No,” Shiro says, snorting. “It just made everything worse. Especially when I realized I didn’t have anyone waiting for me after the war.”

“That’s not true,” Keith argues. “You have us.”

He tries not to think about how ready he’d been to say _me_.

“I know,” Shiro says. “Thank you, Keith.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

They go silent again, and it’s only then that Keith has the courage to ask:

“Why are you here, Shiro?”

“I wanted to see you,” Shiro whispers. “I felt like I had to.”

“Did something—are you okay?” Keith’s chest feels tight with panic, and it hurts to breathe.

Shiro faces him, his expression carefully blank.

“I got my mark today, Keith.”

The world inverts around him, swirling in a blur of colors that he can’t even begin to pick out. When it finally rights itself, the breath Keith takes in is shaky. His heart is beating so loudly that he wonders if Shiro can hear it.

“That’s great,” he mutters, wishing he could force himself to sound like he means it.

And then, without any warning, Shiro says:

“It’s you.”

“What?” Keith asks, voice wobbling and unstable, cracking as he tries to get the word out.

Shiro slowly begins to unbutton his shirt. Keith watches him, feeling cold as ice even though his apartment is warmer than hell at the moment. He tries not to stare at Shiro’s bare chest, but can’t look away when he sees his own name etched onto him, his angry scrawl covering the once empty stretch of skin across Shiro’s heart.

“I think,” Shiro starts, slow and careful, as if he’s afraid Keith will suddenly run off because of this, “that it was always meant to be you.”

“Why now?” Keith whispers, tearing his eyes away from Shiro’s chest. “Why _me_?”

“You never gave up on me,” Shiro reminds him, smiling crookedly. “Even when you should’ve.”

Keith scoffs at that, feeling a lump form in his throat.

“You never gave me a reason to,” he says. He draws his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“Do you think I deserve this?” Shiro asks, full of doubt. “Do you think I deserve _you_?”

“I…” he trails off, at an utter loss for words. “I think you deserve to be happy, Shiro.”

Shiro nods to himself, as if Keith’s given him exactly the answer he expected.

“You make me happy,” he murmurs. “More than anyone else ever has.”

He stands, walking over towards Keith, kneeling before him and resting his broad hands on Keith’s calves. Keith unhooks his arms, swallowing roughly as he looks into Shiro’s warm grey eyes.

“Is it too late now?” he asks, and that’s what breaks Keith.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, almost fondly, and he feels Shiro smile when he pulls him in and _kisses_ him.

It’s not his first kiss, but there’s something electrifying about it that makes it feel like it _is_. He feels dizzy when they separate, and his blood roars loud and thunderous in his ears.

“Keith?”

“Yeah?”

Shiro takes his hand, presses it over his chest. His skin is warm and smooth beneath his hand, and Keith can feel the steady thump of his heart against his palm.

“Thank you,” Shiro says, and before Keith can ask him what for, he’s pulled into another kiss.


End file.
